Beast In a Cage
by Raven Corvus
Summary: Logan had thought he'd seen everything by now. Yet things go awry for him again, except this time he's left caring for an orphaned teen with powers of his own. Logan's impulse tells him to try surviving in 1920s Chicago, but he soon finds himself dragged into the business of bootlegging and working for the notorious North Siders and encountering the strangest people.
1. On the Run

Northwest Indiana, 1924

The sun was high in the sky by the time Logan slid the last beam into the fence post. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand as a cool spring breeze blew through the plain, rustling the tall grass. Leaning against the fence post, he smoothed back the hair out from his eyes and observed the ranch. All was quiet as usual. Beside the house, he could make out Jack playing with the dog. He smiled to himself. Working as a ranch hand was honest work and a breath of fresh air. Life hadn't been easy for him but stumbling upon the Densmore's ranch had been the perfect blank slate. The Densmores didn't ask about his past nor where he came from. All they expected was good, honest work and the occasional companionship for their son, Jack.

Life had been good for the last four years.

Logan picked his Stetson hat off the ground and placed it on his head. He had better things to do than laze around. His work as a ranch hand never ended, but he didn't mind. The manual labor was good for him, both mentally and physically. The hard work helped keep the beast inside at bay.

He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel as he made his way over to the boy. Jack flashed a smile once he noticed and ran over to meet him with a hug.

Logan ruffled the boy's dark hair. "Hey kid, how does it feel to be fifteen now?"

"Mr. Logan, I'm _fourteen_!" Jack corrected.

"Really? You keep growing like you are and you'll be looking sixteen soon enough."

"You think so?"

"Know so, kid."

Jack's smile only widened as he scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks,"

"Of course, is your father inside?" Logan asked.

"Pa's out by the corral. He just bought a new Thoroughbred."

Logan thanked him and headed over to where Jack said William Densmore would be. Sure enough, he found the tall gentleman leaning against the wooden fence watching another ranch hand walk the new horse. Logan, however, wasn't surprised. Mr. Densmore was an impulsive buyer, especially when it came to horses. He stood beside him, lit a cigar, and observed the fine animal. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as the horse protested against the ranch hand.

"Would you get that horse under control, Sullivan! You're the one in charge." William said.

"Looks like you bought a handful this time," Logan commented.

"Well, he's named Whiskey for a reason."

He chuckled and gave his cigar a puff. "He's got spirit, that's for sure."

"Which is why he's out here, but apparently I've hired ranch hands who don't know how to handle a horse with a mind of its own."

Logan watched Sullivan struggle some more and shook his head when Whiskey sidestepped out from underneath him. A cloud of dust surrounded the ranch hand as he picked himself off the ground. Placing the cigar in his mouth, Logan hopped the fence and slowly approached the horse. He had always had a strange connection with animals. It was something innate and hardwired within him, a knack that he assumed came with his own animal instincts. Soothing the horse was almost too easy, and it took him no time at all to hoist himself onto its back without difficulty. A smile stretched across William's face as he walked the horse over.

"Now _there's_ a competent ranch hand!" William exclaimed.

Logan eased the horse to a stop beside him. "Mind if I break him in a bit? I still have to get a few things from the store in town like you asked me to."

"Not at all, my boy! As long as you promise not to run him into the ground!"

"I would never." He scoffed as Sullivan opened the corral for him.

The stallion had a surprisingly fast canter. When he reached the town of Lafayette, he hitched the horse to a post outside the general store before stepping inside.

"How're you doing today, Logan?" The clerk asked.

He shrugged as he set the bitters and canned goods he'd gathered onto the counter. "Fine, I guess."

"You run into any of them Cairnes boys lately?"

"No, never heard of them." He replied as he eyed the clerk. "Why do you ask, Milton?"

"Word is they've made themselves at home in the woods around here. They're not the friendliest bunch, and I'm not sayin' you can't take care of yourself, but it's probably best that you keep your guard up."

"I always have my guard up, but thanks for the warning."

Logan ended the following workday mucking stalls and refreshing the water troughs. He lit a cigar once he finished and puffed it to life as his eyes settled on the golden horizon. It was beautiful, but the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Densmore bickering by the shed kept him from fully appreciating the sight. He let out a smoky sigh and focused on the heated conversation.

"Mrs. Matthews told me this morning they'd already raided one ranch! She heard that one of their ranch hands were shot and killed."

"What did I tell you about listening to trifle gossip? There's nothing to be worried about!"

"Can we really afford to dismiss her words as gossip, William? What if it's true? What if something happened to Jack?"

Logan puffed his cigar again and strolled over to the two of them, his curiosity thoroughly piqued.

Their conversation came to a halt as they noticed his presence, and William cleared his throat. "Logan, how are you this evening?"

"Fine, thanks. I couldn't help but overhear that there may be some trouble?"

William smoothed his mustache in exasperation. Logan could tell he didn't want to indulge in Heather's concerns, but it was clear that he was unsure of what to make of it all. The smell of fear was coming off both of them. Logan had no doubt they would want something done about it, and he figured he was best equipped to take on whatever they needed.

William finally heaved a sigh, glanced at Heather, and then turned to him. "You could say that. Apparently, there's been talk that the Cairnes Gang has been causing some trouble."

"I heard. Milton mentioned something about them yesterday."

"I hate to ask this of you, but I need you to search the perimeter. See if there's been any sign that those men have been on our property."

"Mind if I take Whiskey? I need a strong horse in case things go wrong."

"You take whatever you need, and make sure you take your revolver with you."

Logan nodded and turned towards Heather. "Don't you worry, Mrs. Densmore. I'll take care of whatever's out there."

She thanked him, and he stopped by his small cabin to grab his things. As he holstered his revolver, he heard his door open and turned to see Jack. Logan could easily read the concern written all over him, and the smell of his fear was in the air. "Hey, kid."

"Where are you going? You never take your gun with you."

"I'm just going to make sure there's no trouble."

It was clear that Jack was still anxious, his hazel eyes resting on the weapon holstered on his belt.

Logan smiled at the boy and placed his hat on his head. The brim rested just above his brow, clearly too big for him and Logan had to tilt his head up to see his eyes. "Keep this safe for me while I'm gone. I'll be back for it before the moon rises."

Jack nodded, his shoulders relaxing. Logan left to saddle and mount Whiskey and started with walking the perimeter, keeping his eyes open for any fresh tracks. Every once in a while, he'd stop, take a lungful of the crisp air in through his nose, and listen.

The only things he found when he stopped was a chorus of crickets, the scent of fresh growth, and the movement of squirrels jumping from tree to tree.

He was beginning to feel confident there was nothing to fear when his keen blue eyes zeroed in on some fresh tracks. By now Whiskey's ears had gone back, and his front leg was pawing the ground.

Logan's instincts told him the same.

_Danger_.

A gunshot sounded a second later, followed by several more. Logan spurred his horse and galloped through the forest towards the house. He pushed Whiskey as hard as he could and, as the trees opened up, the house came into view. All seemed fine as he sped towards the house until the far side was blown out, splintering into a thousand pieces and debris.

Logan's eyes flew wide.

Whiskey reared.

He was thrown from the saddle and landed hard on the ground. A groan clawed its way up his throat as he struggled for air. With gritted teeth, he forced himself to get up despite the burning in his lungs.

All was eerily quiet as he ran into the house. He paused briefly to register Mr. and Mrs. Densmore's bodies sprawled on the floor, their chests bloody and riddled with buckshot.

His mind spun with one question.

Where was Jack?

A sob pulled his attention and wasted no time in running to the other side of the house. With his weapon drawn, he stepped through the open door to Jack's room.

The sight he saw before him made him freeze.

He'd set enough dynamite off for a living in his younger years to know the damage it could cause. He also knew its distinct smell and the black singe it left on all it touched.

The damage was there, but there was no smell.

Nothing was scorched.

Yet something had blown out the wall with the same amount of force, and several feet away from the foundation lay several mangled corpses.

His eyes flitted to the source of the sobs and found Jack huddled in the corner. Tears were streaming down his face, and Logan felt a fierce, consuming need to protect the kid. He holstered his revolver, sat beside the boy, and pulled him into his arms. Jack buried his head into his chest as he wept into his flannel shirt.

"Mr. Logan, they—"

Logan gently shushed him, still eyeing the damage and trying to make sense of it. A familiar wave of guilt crashed over him. He should've been there. Should've known better than to leave them. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I-I killed them!"

The confession forced his eyes to snap back to him. "What?"

"I don't know how it happened! I raised my hands to keep them away and, and—"

"Easy, Jack. They—" he cut himself off as he searched for the right words. Everything was suddenly making sense, the pieces of the aftermath clicking together. He had to choose his words wisely. "You were in danger. It was self-defense."

Logan sat with his arms around him until he had calmed down enough to follow instructions. Sadly, he knew from experience what they had to do. They had to leave. If they stayed, people would ask questions and no one else could know about Jack's power.

It was for his own safety.

As he packed necessities into saddle bags and readied Jack's horse, he found himself missing Rose. She had done the same thing for him years ago. She'd been so brave.

So selfless.

_And all for what?_

He shook his head of the thought as he finished tightening the billet strap of Jack's saddle. Now wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity.

Logan helped the boy onto his horse before mounting his own. They rode at a fast pace for several hours in silence. He knew the boy was in shock, and he wanted to give him space. After a while, Logan looked over and examined Jack. His eyes were blank as they focused on something unseen.

He drew a deep breath in through his nose. "Jack?"

"I couldn't save them."

"Don't go down that dark road, kid. Trust me on this one." Logan warned.

"How do you know?"

He held up his hand and extended his claws to show him. Jack's eyes widened. "You're not the only one with powers. Something very similar happened to me when I was around your age."

"How did you get over the pain?" Jack asked as he studied the bony protrusions.

"You don't. But a good friend once told me that life is pain, but not all of it is. The pain's the price, and the price is worth paying." He replied before sheathing his claws.

"So where are we going?"

"Chicago, it's crowded but it should make it easier to blend in. It'll take us about three days to get there if the riding's good." Logan was hoping to ride forty more miles before stopping. It would be grueling for Jack and his horse, but the more miles they put between them and the ranch the better.

* * *

The way Whiskey plodded along was the first thing that told Logan how late it was. He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at Jack. The boy's head rolled with his horse and his listless eyes were puffy with exhaustion. He looked ready to fall out of his saddle. They needed to stop, but where they were wasn't safe to camp. He scanned the horizon and spotted a house whose windows were illuminated by a warm light from within.

"Just a little further, Jack." He said.

"I'm so tired, Mr. Logan." He groaned.

"I know, come here," he replied as he stopped his horse. Once Jack was beside him, he hoisted him onto his saddle and took hold of his horse's reins. Jack leaned back against him and closed his eyes as they continued their journey. He could feel the boy start to go limp as he drifted off and he wrapped his arm around him.

When they reached the house, Logan gently nudged him awake. By now the soft orange light of dusk was stretching its fingers across the sky and outlining the clouds in gold. They'd traveled all night and day, he observed. Logan felt a twinge of guilt as he dismounted and walked over to the door. The poor kid had lost everything and here he was pushing him to his limit. He tried telling himself it was for the best, but was it true?

Or was he only running because that was what he knew best?

He knocked on the door and rested his hands on his belt as he waited. The door opened a moment later and he was greeted by a slender woman aiming a shotgun. Logan immediately raised his hands in response to show he meant no harm.

"Who are you and what do you want?" She asked. The slight tremor in her voice revealed the gentle nature that lay beneath the confident façade. It took only one whiff of the fear in the air to confirm it.

"I'm sorry if we disturbed you, but we were wondering if you could provide us a place to rest for the night." Logan carefully stepped to the side so she could see Jack. "My son and I have been traveling a long while and this is rough country to be camping out in."

The barrel of the shotgun lowered as she observed Jack with concern. Her dark eyes flitted from Jack to Logan, and to Jack once more before the stiffness in her posture left. "I have a spare room in the back you all could stay in. Dinner's just about done too if you're hungry."

"That's very kind of you," Logan replied with a smile, "I can't thank you enough."

"Sure, what's your name sir?"

"James, my son's name is Jackson." He replied. It was a hassle to keep up with fake names, but it was only for the night and it was better to err on the side of caution. He wasn't sure who would be asking around for them eventually.

"I'm Anna and my daughter's name is Beth. Go ahead and tie up your horses out front and come make yourselves at home."

Logan didn't hesitate to follow her instructions and neither did Jack. When it was time they joined her and her daughter at the table for supper. While he didn't mention it, Logan couldn't help but notice the stench of cigarette smoke and liquor in the house. He glanced up from his meal to discreetly eye Anna. It was too obvious to him that the smell wasn't from her. She looked like she hadn't touched the stuff a day in her life. His blue eyes skirted to the gold ring on her finger. It was a wedding band, but where was her husband? Logan had a feeling he knew the answer but decided to fish for it anyway.

"Will your husband be alright with us staying the night?" He asked.

She stiffened. "How did you know I have a husband?"

"Your ring,"

"Oh, well...he's in town and won't be back for a while, but I'll let him know when he comes home."

Logan held his tongue by taking another bite of his meal. It was none of his business what her husband did. He had no right sticking his nose where it didn't belong, and he certainly needn't give any unsolicited advice. Anna had shown grace and kindness to them, and she deserved his respect.

After dinner, he had Jack wash up and helped him to bed. There was only one, but Logan assured him he'd be just fine on the floor. He could tell Jack wasn't convinced, but the boy was too exhausted to protest.

He lied down on the wooden floorboards and folded his arms behind his head. He was just starting to give into sleep when he heard Jack whisper his name.

"Mr. Logan? Are you awake?"

He opened his eyes and looked up to see the kid peering over the edge of the bed. "Mhmm,"

"Can...can you..."

"Spit it out, boy." He coaxed with a grin.

"Can you sleep with me? I'm scared. I can't stop thinking about yesterday." Jack had trailed off, but Logan's hearing was good enough to catch it, and it made his heart sink.

He nodded and got up to lie down beside the kid who quickly snuggled up to his side. It wasn't long after when he felt Jack's body begin to shake. Concerned, he quickly looked down to check on him and saw that he had started to cry. Logan's brow furrowed as he gently rubbed his back and spoke soothing words into the boy's ear. Jack was clearly traumatized, and understandably so. Logan found himself taken off guard by his own gentleness towards the boy. He'd been so sure that his heart had become calloused with all that he'd endured over the years, yet here he was comforting a child.

But there was a sense of solidarity between them. They had both witnessed horrific things at a young age and were...different. Logan for the longest time had been calling himself an animal as a way to describe whatever it was that made him inhuman. However, seeing Jack's power the other day had proven otherwise. To find others with abilities that weren't animalistic was new to him.

It was nice being reminded that he wasn't alone.

Jack eventually calmed down and exhaustion finally took over and carried them both away into a deep sleep.

It was several hours later when Logan awoke to find his nose and lungs burning. His eyes flew open, and he sat up, his body forcing a coughing fit as he took in his surroundings.

Thick, gray smoke had filled the room. The door was hardly visible except for a bright orange light that glowed between the cracks in the wood. His eyes stung, and the heat was unbearable.

Logan had to get Jack out now.

He quickly woke him and jumped out of bed to reach the window. There was only so much time left before the fire reached them. He slid the narrow window open and helped Jack through. Logan watched as he scrambled backward after hitting the ground. Judging by the surprised look on his face and the flickering of reds and yellows that painted their surroundings, the fire consuming the house was big. Logan glanced behind him and saw flames licking at the door and ceiling.

"Jack get the horses and wait for me away from the house!" He shouted.

A look of terror came over him as he understood Logan's train of thought. "What are you—"

"Dammit kid now's not the time to ask questions! I'll be back!"

"Wait!"

Logan was already heading further into the house. He kicked down the door and threw his hands in front of his face as the sparks and flames flew about him. He swore under his breath as his forearms blistered from the heat, but he pushed onward. Despite the roar of the fire and groaning of timber, he could hear Anna's screams further inside. She was down the hall and past the inferno that was consuming the cabin. He braced himself and faced the flames head-on.

By now his lungs were screaming at him to get fresh air. Each ragged breath felt suffocating, and the smoke was thick enough to keep him from seeing his own hands. It was up to his sense of hearing to find the two ladies.

"Anna?" He called between coughs and through his shirt he'd pulled over his nose.

"We're here! We're over here!"

Logan found them in a room on his right. They were pressed against the corner, Beth unconscious in Anna's arms. He withdrew his over-shirt and handed it to Anna. "Keep this over her nose to keep her from sucking in any more smoke!"

She nodded and quickly did so before he took Beth from Anna's arms.

"Use your gown to cover your face. Follow me."

He was grateful that Beth was both young and small for her age. In one arm, he held the girl and with his other, he helped Anna through the burning house.

When they made it out, Logan carried the girl a safe distance away before gently laying her on the ground. Looking up, he saw Jack standing where he had told him with the reins of both horses in his hand. He looked both scared and mystified. Logan started to walk over to him when his knees buckled without warning.

Jack ran over to him and kneeled down beside him with wide eyes.

Logan waved him off as he coughed and wheezed. "I'll be fine, just give me a second."

It took him just a brief moment to recover and he sat up to assess the damage.

The house would be unsalvageable no doubt. It seemed to him, however, that Anna was only concerned about Beth's safety. He was glad the two had made it out alright, but he found himself wondering what had caused the fire.

His brow furrowed, and he rose to his feet, scanning the perimeter of the cabin. There was a distinct acrid scent in the air, one that he'd only smelled during the Great War. It made his skin crawl as it brought back vivid memories of the horrors he saw. Memories of men writhing on the ground as flames consumed them from the inside out. He ventured closer to the burning house and his eyes found the source of the stench.

He scowled.

Slumped against a burning post was the smoldering remains of a body. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glimmer of a wedding band and an empty bottle in the grass.

Judging by the evidence, it was clear that the drunken man had been smoking when he had either fallen asleep or passed out. He shook his head, stood, and headed back towards Anna, Beth, and Jack.

"Is everyone all right?" He asked.

"Yes, thanks to you," Anna replied as she handed him his over shirt.

He scratched the back of his neck and took it. "Listen, I hate to be the one to tell you this but your husband—"

"I know. He was a drunk fool." She said. "He wasn't always like that. My husband was a good man."

He sighed and shook his head. "That's the thing about people, darlin'. They change."

She shrugged. "Such is life, everything changes over time. My husband simply decided to turn to the bottle for comfort instead of the people he had in his life. You make sure you don't do the same, Mr. James. You have a lovely boy there, and it ain't my business to know what happened to his mother, but you just make sure that you don't set fire to what the two of you have."

Logan tilted his head at Anna's candidness, finding her words were both encouraging and foreboding. The way the light from the fire cast dancing light and shadows across her face didn't help, but he thanked her anyway and handed her some money before mounting his horse. He hoisted Jack up onto his own saddle to let the kid sleep some more and resumed their journey.

* * *

Exhausted was an understatement of how Logan felt. The sun was high in the sky, and Logan was thankful for the cool spring air. There were hardly any clouds in sight, and the road was just as clear. He had encountered a stagecoach and two riders, but not much else in the nine hours he'd been riding. Jack was still sleeping soundly against him, the puffiness around his eyes now gone from getting the rest he needed. He smiled at the sight but froze a second later. The sudden swell of affection that came over him was confusing, and a chilling fear gripped him.

In the past, those who he cared about were either killed by him or because of him. His eyes flicked up to the road again.

Was Jack doomed to a similar fate?

Logan shut his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath despite the paralyzing tightness in his chest.

No, things would be different this time.

They would both make it out of this unscathed.

He exhaled, opened his eyes, and focused on the path in front of them.

Jack awoke within the next hour and stretched. "How far are we now?"

Logan chuckled. "I think we crossed into Illinois an hour ago."

"This is taking forever." He groaned.

"Sure feels like it."

"Can we stop? I've got to go."

Logan sighed but nodded. "Alright but make it quick. Don't get sidetracked in those woods." He warned as he helped lower Jack. The boy nodded and disappeared behind the tree line. Logan shook his head. Not once did he think he'd be in this situation, yet here he was.

Logan heard two clicks behind him and his brow furrowed as he turned in his saddle. He heard the shot before he had turned all the way to see the two men approaching him. The bullet found its mark in his shoulder, sinking deep into the tissue of his muscle. He cried out in pain, the impact of it sending him to the ground. Whiskey reared, and Logan gritted his teeth as he snatched the reins before they could escape his reach. He had to get his gun.

The two bandits rode over, and Logan swore as one dismounted and stepped on his wounded shoulder. Searing hot pain shot through him and forced him to let go of the reins.

The man aimed his rifle in his face and smirked. "Where do you think you're going, cowpoke?"

The other bandit, a slim man with a scraggly appearance, went over to Whiskey and pulled Logan's revolver out of its holster. He eyed it with a low whistle before gesturing it to Logan. "Looking for this?"

"Piss off," he hissed.

"Wonder what else you have in these saddlebags."

"Careful, with two horses I reckon he ain't alone." The one standing on him mused.

"No shit! I weren't born yesterday!"

As the two bickered, Logan eased his free hand towards the hunting knife he kept on his belt. With one swift movement, he unsheathed the weapon and drove it behind his assailant's kneecap. His leg gave out and Logan pulled the man down the rest of the way, plunging the knife into his chest. By now the other had pulled back the hammer of his revolver and aimed it at his head. Logan had pulled the knife out and was ready to throw it when the man was suddenly thrown twenty-five yards.

He pushed the corpse off his chest and sat up. There Jack stood, shaken but determined. Both horses were thoroughly spooked, and Logan rose to his feet to calm them both down. They quieted after a few soft-spoken words, and he looked down at Jack with a smile. "Thanks,"

Jack nodded, clearly still processing what he had accomplished. Logan ruffled his hair and went to retrieve his revolver from the unconscious man. He scowled down at him. With the fresh scent of blood in the air, he could feel his animal instinct craving for more. Logan swallowed, forcing the beast down as he felt Jack's gaze on him. As much as he wanted to put a bullet through the stranger's head for his trouble, the desire was suppressed by the conviction to set a good example. With a muttered curse, he settled for a hardy kick to the man's ribs.

Logan rejoined Jack and mounted his horse before they spurred their horses and rode off. It had been just over an hour when they slowed their horses to a brisk walk. He could feel Jack looking him over, the boy searching for something with an intensity that confused Logan.

He finally made eye contact with him and raised an eyebrow. "You alright, kid?"

"Your shoulder…is it okay?" Jack asked.

"It healed a while ago."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yep,"

Jack pondered the revelation before speaking again. "So, when you went back into that fire..."

"Yeah, that hurt too." He replied.

"You can heal, and you've got claws. Is there anything else I don't know about?"

He laughed. He knew the kid was referring to his powers, but at the same time he had hardly scratched the surface, and it was best if it stayed that way. "The only other thing is that I've got heightened senses."

"Do you think I have other powers too?"

Logan shrugged. "Don't know, kid."

"Are there others like us?"

Logan hesitated and glanced over at him. He wasn't sure if the question was intended to go anywhere. He didn't want to get into the darker side of his past just yet with the boy. Jack had seen enough in the last two days, and Logan didn't want to fill his head with more stories without a happy ending.

"There are, I've met a few." He answered reluctantly.

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

He sighed. "Some things happened that I'm not proud of. It was better for both parties that I didn't stick around."

"Is that when you came to work with us?" Jack asked.

"No, I joined the Canadian army and fought in the Great War. Sometime after that is when I somehow found my way to Indiana and began working for your father."

"Do you really think we'll be okay in Chicago?"

"Of course," he reassured. Although if he was honest, he wasn't sure. He could do almost any kind of job, but earning enough wages was another thing.

They decided to spend the night at a hotel in Cedar Lake. Both of them were exhausted, and the idea of sleeping under a roof and in a bed was too enticing to ignore. They rented a room that, while small, was able to fit two twin beds, a bathroom, and an armchair. The second bed, however, turned out to be unnecessary. Jack was still scared of the possibility of nightmares, and so the two of them shared one twin. It was a tight fit. While the length of the bed wasn't a problem for either of them, Logan had to lay on his side to give Jack enough room. He made sure his back was facing the boy and closed his eyes, hoping that neither of them experienced any nightmares that night.

* * *

Logan counted the cash in his hand as Jack silently counted with him. The two of them exchanged a glance before he shoved it into his pocket. Their first stop in Chicago had been a stable to gain some money in exchange for their horses. But without the papers for the horses, Logan had only been able to sell them, as well as their tack, for a little over sixty dollars. It was the highest the man would go, which Logan thought was a scam. Either that, Logan thought, or the man didn't know shit about horses. He looked over at Jack who had been watching him intently. The boy wasn't oblivious to the situation. He was as sharp as a tack, and Logan hadn't tried too hard to hide his irritation.

Not that he was any good at doing that anyway.

"Will it be enough for us?" Jack asked.

"If we're smart with it, yes." He said as they walked.

Logan eventually stopped when he found an apartment building that some locals had mentioned. After asking around some, it was decided that this was the best they could get for a low price. With narrowed eyes, he inspected the building. It looked livable but certainly far from ideal. Living on the Densmore's ranch had spoiled him. He had gotten used to that life, the open air as well as his own place away from strangers, and now it was time to adjust to city life once more.

They ventured inside, and Logan approached the man at the front desk. He had a wiry frame, and the thinning hair on his head was mostly covered by a Panama hat. There seemed to be a permanent frown engraved between his eyebrows as he looked over his glasses at them.

"Can I help you?" His voice sounded tired and irritated as if their very existence drained him.

"I heard you have rooms available at a decent price," Logan said.

He grunted to himself as he rose from his chair. "Follow me, I'll show you what I've got."

The man led them up the steps to the third floor and down the hall. "This is the smallest unit I have available. It has two rooms, a few windows, and comes furnished."

The unit was indeed small, but Logan didn't plan to stick around Chicago long. It would do. "How much?"

"Ten dollars a month, but I'll need a five-dollar deposit as insurance."

"Ten dollars? You can't go any lower?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like a fucking charity case to you?"

"I've rented better units in New York that went for six!" Logan countered. He could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface. This man was outright scamming them and robbing them of their money.

"Well, this ain't New York, buddy. Either take it or leave it!"

"_Buddy?_" He snarled. The man's high rent for the small unit was one thing but demeaning him was another. His arrogance infuriated him. Logan felt a hand on his clenched fist and looked over to see Jack's concerned gaze.

"This might be the best thing we're going to get."

The man scoffed. "The boy's smart. He must take after his mother."

Jack shot the man a look. "And you must take after an ass. I refuse to see my father stoop to your level, but I will not stand for your petty, unmerited insults."

Logan couldn't believe what he had just heard. He took a double take at Jack before eyeing the landlord. They were both pushing their luck, but he couldn't help the sense of pride he felt regarding Jack's boldness.

The man was stunned. Jack was a soft-spoken boy, and not even Logan had really seen this side of him. His response had been unexpected by both of them, except only Logan was amused. It took the landlord a moment to recover and find his words again. "Are you going to take the damn room or not? At this point, you're wasting my time."

"We'll take it," Logan replied.


	2. New Friends in Low Places

Several Months Later

Logan climbed the steps to his small apartment on the third floor. With his healing factor stretched thin from exhaustion, his muscles ached from working two full shifts back to back. He rolled his shoulders and stopped in front of his door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and pulled out his earnings from that day. The coins and dollars in his palm were a sad sight. It was hardly enough to last them a few days. He muttered a string of swears under his breath as he wearily rested his forehead against the door.

In the back of his mind, he knew he should've found a better place for Jack. The kid deserved better than the life he was giving him. The worst part, Logan thought, was that it was his own selfishness that had taken the boy down this road. He cared deeply for the kid, and the thought of letting him go and giving him to someone else felt like a knife through his heart.

Logan swallowed, stuffed the money back into his pocket, and opened the door.

Jack looked up from the book he was reading. "Logan!"

"Hey kid," he said as he forced a smile.

"Man, you look like shit."

His smile shifted into a scowl. "_Language_!"

"You're one to talk." He quipped as he sat up on the bed.

"Do as I say, Jack, not as I do." He replied as he shook his head and took his place on the tattered blankets on the floor. He laid back with a quiet grunt and closed his eyes. Despite the overwhelming exhaustion, he could feel the boy's scrutinizing stare.

"You're going to work yourself into the grave, Logan. Would you _please _let me help? I'm more than old enough to work in those factories. They hire just about anyone nowadays!"

"For the last time, you are _not _working in those factories!" He snarled. "And don't worry about me, you know I can't die."

With those words, the room went silent, the sounds of the awakening city outside only making the silence that fell between them louder. Logan was dead set against the idea of Jack working in a factory. He'd witnessed firsthand the horrors that happened along assembly lines. In the month he'd been working the line, he'd seen several workers either lose a limb or end their workday maimed. Logan couldn't stand the thought of the same thing happening to the boy. He would rather turn to unsavory work than allow even the possibility of Jack getting hurt, let alone forgoing schooling to earn a few extra bucks.

"You may not be able to die, but you can't keep living like this." Jack finally said.

He sighed and looked over at him. "I'm going to get you out of this dump one way or another."

"I know you will." With a wave of his hand, he pulled one of the blankets over Logan and resumed reading his book.

He only slept a few hours before rising to return to work. Jack had tried to convince him to rest, but it wasn't enough to break through Logan's unwavering determination and stubbornness. Instead, he managed to convince the boy that he was fine and would be back by a decent hour.

At least that had been the plan.

Leaving work at a reasonable time wasn't an issue as he had clocked out right on the dot. It was as he made his way back home, however, when he encountered an unexpected diversion.

The smell of fear mixed with blood was the first thing that had caught his attention. It had forced him to stop in his tracks, his keen sense of smell quickly identifying that the source of it was coming from an alley.

Logan cautiously followed the scent trail, and the scene he stumbled upon involved a man in his fifties and four other lanky men. The four of them towering around the gentleman, one pinning him against the brick wall of a building. Logan stayed in the shadows as he tried to piece together the context of the situation.

"You're awfully far from home, North Sider." One of them jeered.

"Yeah well, I thought I'd go out for a little stroll. Guess I strolled a little too far." The man replied. He had a thick Irish accent, and by now Logan had pieced together that the source of the metallic scent of blood came from his temple.

"Bullshit," another hissed.

"Look, I just transport the stuff! And I ain't about to steal any of your nasty _rotgut!_"

The insult earned the man a swift punch to his gut.

With a scowl, Logan decided that was his queue for him to intervene. "Call me crazy, but this fight doesn't seem fair to me."

Two of the men jumped upon noticing his presence and they quickly drew their pistols. Logan continued to close the distance between them and raised his hands.

"Easy, fellas."

"Who the hell are you?" One of them demanded.

"Nobody, really."

"Then get the fuck out of here already and mind your own damn business!"

"I'm not going anywhere." Time seemed to slow down for Logan at that moment. He knew the two men would open fire after hearing his threat. These men were predictable, and so he ducked before they could fire and lunged towards them. The thrill of the fight pounded in his veins as he threw precise, heavy punches. It'd been too long, and the animal within was hungry for a fight.

The four men went down easily, and part of him was disappointed that it wasn't more of a challenge. He adjusted his leather jacket and turned to the man who was gaping at the sight of four unconscious men.

"Are you alright?" Logan asked.

The question snapped the man out of his daze and he quickly nodded. "Yes, well, thanks to you of course!"

"Don't mention it," Logan replied as he helped the man to his feet.

"And to whom do I owe my life to?"

"Name's Logan,"

The man cocked an eyebrow. "Just Logan, eh?"

"And you are?" He prompted, ignoring the question.

"Martin Byrne," he said as his grey eyes looked him over.

Logan's eyebrows pulled together, unsure of what to make of his scrutinizing gaze. "What?"

"Forgive me for prying, but are you by chance looking for employment?"

"Excuse me?" The question was a strange one, but he knew what the gentleman was getting at.

"Come to think of it, let's talk about this elsewhere. My car's just down the street." He said as he exited the alley and waved for Logan to follow.

He wanted to blame morbid curiosity as to why he followed, but he was the farthest thing from oblivious as to what was happening.

"Now how do I know you're not gonna put a bullet through my skull or something?" He asked.

"Well, I've let you come this far unscathed, haven't I?" Martin grinned as he opened his car door. "But seriously, do I really look like I could harm ya? I could barely handle myself back there with those damn South Siders."

"You don't need the looks if you've got a firearm." Logan countered as he folded his arms across his chest.

He shrugged. "Perhaps, yet here we are still chit-chatting!"

He had him there. Logan sighed as he reluctantly stepped into the car and with that, they were off driving to who knows where. As Martin drove, he kept an eye on the street names and tall buildings that they passed. From the looks of it, they were driving towards the Near North Side close to Lake Shore Drive.

Logan glanced over at Martin who had lit a cigarette. "Why did you ask if I'm employed?"

"Well, I'm sure you've puzzled together what I do by now, and if you've been keeping up with the papers, you know that O'Banion's been offed. Everyone's on edge, but the bootlegging is our biggest profit, and it must go on. And, as you saw back there, I could use some help from someone like you."

"Someone like me, huh?" He scoffed. "I've pieced most of it together, but what exactly do you do?"

"I transport, mostly. That and I keep an ear out for jobs that seem both reliable and profitable."

Logan thought it over as he stared out the window, his hand absentmindedly stroking his stubbled chin. It was definitely illegal, but he didn't have much of a choice. Most of his money was quickly running out and he would be back at square one by the end of the week.

At least bootlegging wasn't the worst thing out there.

Martin eyed him as he remained silent and took a long drag on his cigarette. "Are you a married man, boyo?"

"No, sir."

"You got any family? This gig is illegal at best and dangerous."

He hesitated. Jack certainly wouldn't approve. The Densmores had raised him with a proper moral compass while he himself was morally gray. Yet this was his chance to make a better life for the boy, and despite his better judgment, he found he couldn't pass it up. "I'm in."

"Fantastic! You'll have to be approved by Mr. Weiss first. He's the brains of the operation now, and everyone's rightfully paranoid. He'll want to make sure you're not some kind of rat."

Martin parked beside what looked like a flower shop and they both exited the car. Logan studied the building, pausing to identify exits in case he was walking into a trap. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I'll do the talking unless he directly asks you a question."

"Sure, whatever makes the man happy," Logan replied.

Martin led him inside and past a few bodyguards. He was impressed that the inside was a functioning flower shop. It was the last thing he'd expected to see as a gang's front. He followed Martin to a room in the back that had two more men guarding the door. They recognized the Irishman but tensed and placed a hand on their pistols when they saw Logan. Martin reassured them he could be trusted for the time being and they entered the room.

Inside, was a man who could only be Hymie Weiss. He had the resemblance of a hawk, and his steely eyes had a dark storm brewing behind them. The man hadn't said a word, but Logan could tell he was out for blood and a force to be reckoned with. He could smell it on him, and he had been in that same storm himself years ago.

"Mr. Weiss, I'd like you to meet Logan," Martin said as he gestured to him.

Hymie's cold, penetrating stare shifted to Logan. "Who are you, really?"

"I'm just a Canuck looking for work."

His eyes narrowed. "Keep talking."

"Well," Logan started, "I fought in the Great War, made my way to Nebraska to work as a ranch hand, and then moved here when the crops went bad." The only truthful statement in that sentence was that he'd fought in a war. This man didn't need to know about New York or Indiana.

"Have you ever done anything illegal?"

Logan shrugged. "I've killed a few men outside of war. Weren't right, but I'd do it again."

Weiss looked over at Martin. "Do you trust this man?"

"He saved my life and I damn well trust him with it. If he proves otherwise, I'll just shoot him. Right boyo?" He asked with a friendly clap on his back.

"Seems fair," Logan grinned.

Weiss scrutinized him with his piercing eyes before looking over at Martin. "Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"As sure as death and taxes,"

Hymie finally nodded his approval and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The two of them left without another word and stepped into Martin's car.

"You'll have to forgive Weiss' brusqueness. He hasn't been the same since O'Banion was killed." Martin said as he started the coach sedan. "Dean was his closest friend and mentor."

"I understand,"

"So where do you live, my friend?" He asked as he shifted and pulled out onto the street.

"Belmont Gardens,"

Martin nodded and headed west from where they were. It was only a twenty-minute drive, and Logan stopped him as the apartment building came into view. The Irishman parked and squinted at the building. "This is the dump you're living in?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "It's better than living on the streets, isn't it?"

"Well, you might as well be on the streets living in _that_ shit hole!"

"At least it's a roof over our heads." He muttered.

"What do you mean, 'our'?" Martin asked.

He mentally cursed himself for the slip. "I share the unit with a roommate."

Martin wasn't convinced, but Logan was glad he didn't press further. "I'll see you in the mornin', Logan. Get some rest."

He nodded and exited the car. When he arrived at his door, he checked his pocket watch and sighed. It was nearly eleven at night and far past the time frame he had given Jack. Logan only hoped he hadn't worried the boy with his absence. Tucking the pocket watch away and taking a deep breath, he opened the door and quietly stepped inside.

Jack jolted upright at the sound of the door opening, and before Logan could greet him, he found himself thrown against the wall. He grunted as he landed on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. "Easy, Jack! It's me!"

The fear in his wide eyes faded and he hurried over to Logan's side. "I'm so sorry! I thought someone had—"

"Hey, slow down. Don't worry about it. Better to be safe than sorry, right?" He said as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, there's nothing you can do to hurt me."

Jack reluctantly nodded, inspecting him regardless. "You're home late."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, I got caught up helping someone who was being robbed and held at gunpoint."

"I started to think something had happened to you."

Hearing the tremble in his voice, Logan pulled him into a hug. "Nothing's happening to me, alright? You're stuck with me until you decide otherwise, you hear?"

"Good,"

He smiled to himself. Despite their tight situation with money, he was content having only the boy at his side. Logan couldn't care less about money. All he cared about was Jack's wellbeing. "You should go back to sleep. You've got school tomorrow."

"You're the reason I woke up in the first place!" He quipped as he returned to his bed. Logan simply rolled his eyes before getting settled himself.

* * *

The morning sunlight spilling through the curtain onto his face awoke him. Judging by the soft, warm light that filled the room, it was still early. He stretched as he sat up before swapping his clothes for clean ones. Jack wasn't too far behind him as he got ready for the day. Both of them were early risers, and Logan always enjoyed having his company in the morning. Only a few words were shared at times, but he appreciated his presence nonetheless.

Logan smoothed his hair and pulled back the curtain to scan the street. Sure enough, he found Martin waiting beside his car. He said goodbye to Jack and descended the stairs before exiting the building.

Martin greeted him with a smile. "Ah, Logan! Best of the mornin' to you!"

"Mornin'," he replied, "what do you have planned for today?"

"Just a quick drop-off, something easy to get you used to the way we run things."

Logan nodded and both of them were about to step into the car when he heard his name called. He turned and then looked up when he heard his name again. It was Jack calling his name from the window of their apartment.

"Do you think you'll be back earlier today?" He asked.

Logan hesitated. He could feel Martin's gaze on his back and the hairs on his neck stood on end.

"I'm hoping." He replied nonchalantly despite the dread that was growing in the pit of his stomach.

Jack nodded, said goodbye, and closed the window.

Both men were silent as they entered the car, and Logan knew there would be no getting out of this one. There was no doubt he would be questioned about the interaction, especially after yesterday's conversation. Yet Martin continued to drive in a silence that could only be described as painful. It was killing Logan, and he tried his best to not fidget in his seat. When Martin broke the silence after what seemed like an eternity, it was nothing but sweet relief to him.

"Quite a roommate you've got there." He commented dryly.

"Listen, I—"

"You said you weren't a family man."

"I actually didn't," Logan said flatly.

Martin hit the steering wheel and muttered under his breath. "For fuck's sake, Logan! Have you even considered what might happen to the boy if this job killed you?"

"Worse things will happen to him if I don't start earning money! I can handle this."

"Look, from what I've gathered you're the only person that boy has. You need to be careful." He stressed.

Logan sighed. "I know,"

Martine eyed him before turning left onto another street. "So, what's your son's name?"

"His name's Jack, and he isn't mine."

"Then what happened to his parents?"

"They passed away from pneumonia several years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He shrugged. "That's the way it is sometimes."

"I suppose you're right, but it's still a shame."

Eventually, they arrived at what Logan presumed to be a small club. While its size was nothing notable, the sign above its entrance dwarfed the building. He almost found the sight comical. The place screamed speakeasy yet was still running. Martin switched the car off and reached into the backseat before throwing a tarp off some crates.

"You grab one crate, and I'll grab the other." He instructed.

Logan nodded, stepped out of the car, and took one crate from the back seat. After Martin removed the other, he followed him to the side entrance of the building where a man wearing a vest and bowtie opened the door.

"Come in, quickly. There've been a few cops sniffing about this week." He said as he waved them in.

"I wonder why," Logan remarked. Martin managed to elbow him in the side despite the load he was carrying, and they were led to a dingy storage room towards the back of the building.

"Can I offer you boys anything to drink at a steep discount?" The man asked, handing Martin the cash that was owed for the liquor. Martin counted the cash, handed a portion of it to Logan, and looked up at the man and he tucked the rest of it away into his breast pocket.

"I think we've got time for one, Ernest." He replied.

He nodded and gestured for them to follow him to another room within the building. There was a counter that lined one wall where booze of all kinds was stacked. Between those sitting at the barstools and others sitting at tables, there were at least fifteen to twenty people enjoying a drink or two. Logan eyed them, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in a room that only had space to comfortably fit ten people. Other than Martin, he didn't trust a single person there. He followed the Irishman closely and took a seat beside him at the counter.

"So, what will it be?" Ernest asked.

"I'll take a beer. How 'bout you, Logan?"

Logan's attention was pulled back to the bartender. While he was already on edge, there was something about the man behind the counter he didn't like. He didn't like most people, but there was a shifty look to this one.

"Just a whiskey,"

"I didn't know you were a whiskey man!" Martin scoffed.

"I prefer the stronger stuff."

Ernest handed them their drinks and Logan took a swig of whiskey from his glass as Martin did the same with his beer. It was watered down and unpleasant, but at least he could still taste the alcohol. Martin, however, felt differently about the matter. Logan could tell by the scowl on his face. The Irishman's mood had turned sour and Logan watched as he lifted the glass to his nose for a sniff. Logan watched him before sliding his glass over.

"Here, take mine." He said.

Martin shook his head. "That's not the issue here. What's rustling my feathers is the fact we sold them perfectly good alcohol, and this is what we get? A half-assed thanks?"

By now the bartender was more than just eavesdropping. With eyebrows drawn, he stalked over to where they were sitting. "Don't like it? Then leave, I've got better things to do than listen to some cat-lick, mick complain!"

Before Logan could insult Ernest in kind, Martin threw his beer onto his face. "That'll teach ya to watch your manners! Don't expect us to be selling any more to you! Good day,"

Logan hid his smirk by slamming what was left of his drink down before following his friend. As they walked across the tiled floor, a patron grabbed Martin by his collar and forced him against the wall.

"Do you really think you can disrespect Ernest like that and get away with it?" He spat as he raised a fist.

Logan snarled and stepped between them, one hand steadying Martin and the other forcing the stranger several steps back with a shove. "Keep your hands to yourself if you want to keep them!"

The patron caught himself from falling using the counter and glared at him. "Just who do you think you are?"

"Someone you don't want to mess with, bub."

That was enough to send the man over the edge. His face flushed red and he lunged forward with fists raised. Logan was ready for him and as soon as he was close enough, he punched him in the gut before landing a blow to his temple. The impact knocked him out cold and the stranger crumpled to the ground. Logan stared at the man who was lying still on the floor, the skin on his temple now broken and bleeding. By now everyone was watching with either amusement, shock, or apathy. He was about to walk out when he felt arms wrap tightly around his neck from behind. Without hesitation, Logan jabbed the man hard in the ribs with his elbow. The man's hold on his neck loosened as he swore, and Logan elbowed him again the gut, ducked out from under his arms, and threw him to the ground. He breathed heavily as he stared at the other patrons, daring them out of their seats. However, they had all learned from the other two men and not one of them accepted his challenge. Satisfied, Logan and Martin left the establishment and stepped into their car.

"That was grand! You were fantastic in there!" Martin said as he pulled the choke and switched the engine on. "Thank you, Logan, for having my back. You truly are a lifesaver."

"Anytime, Marty," he replied.

"My other partner was like you. He didn't care who or what he was fighting as long as he was protecting his own."

Logan's hands stilled while fixing his collar and he studied Martin. "What happened to him?"

"One day the job we took was a setup. He was shot through the heart, God rest his soul."

He scratched the back of his head and mulled over the new information. "When did he pass?"

"Earlier this year," he sighed, "that's why I keep trying to get through that thick head of yours that this job ain't easy, and sometimes shit happens."

"Listen, don't you worry about me. I can take _and _deal a lot of damage."

"If you say so,"

They drove back to the apartment and Martin parked alongside the curb. Logan looked up at the building, his thoughts wandering elsewhere. What Martin had said yesterday wasn't far from the truth. The place was far from an ideal abode. The landlord a crook and refused to maintain the place, making the units far less than ideal. He and Jack would have to find somewhere else to stay eventually, but the city wasn't cheap, and neither was land.

Martin examined him as he stayed lost in thought, and it was the clearing of his throat that interrupted Logan's musings. "If I may, Logan, there are other options besides that dump."

"I know, but I can't afford them. Not at the moment, anyway."

"What if I told you I had a spare bedroom available for free in my house?"

The offer pulled Logan's attention away from the brick building and his blue eyes settled on Martin's. Was he joking? "A spare room for free?"

"Sure! It's the least I can do for you and that boy of yours."

Logan was speechless. The last time he'd encountered such kindness had been with Clara years ago. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!"

"I don't know what to say, thank you."

"Your thanks is good enough." He said.

He nodded and glanced at the building again. "Jack should be home from school shortly. Do you mind if we wait inside?"

"Not at all!" Martin replied as they exited the car. They climbed the steps until they reached the third floor and entered the unit. Martin let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the small living space.

"How long have you managed to live in this shithole?" He asked, a grin taking over his features.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Since April,"

"You've lived here for seven months?" He exclaimed before pointing to the blankets on the floor. "Is that where you sleep?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Logan huffed.

Martin eyed him in disbelief. "Well, that explains the bloody tired look you always have in your eyes."

"The kid needs sleep more than I do. I don't like sleeping for long periods of time anyway."

"Suit yourself, but there's two twin beds in my spare room, so there'll be no more sleeping on the floor for you!"

Logan chuckled to himself and began to gather their things. He heard Jack coming and turned as the door opened. The boy stopped in his tracks and his eyes flicked between Martin and Logan as he tried to grasp what was going on.

"Who's this?" he asked tentatively.

"Martin is a friend from work. He has a spare bedroom he's going to let us use at no cost." Logan replied.

Jack's mouth fell open. "Really?"

"Absolutely! Logan has saved my life more than once, so it's the least I can do." Martin said.

A broad smile stretched across Jack's face and he eagerly began helping gather and take down their belongings.

Martin's house wasn't too far from their apartment. It took ten minutes tops before they pulled up to a quaint bungalow house off West Addison Street. In the front, there were a few stairs that led up to a small porch. Five bay windows wrapped around the front of the building and the lawn, Logan noticed, was meticulously taken care of. After grabbing their things, they entered the house where Martin gave them a brief tour. It was a charming place with little touches that made it feel like home, and Logan was surprised by how spacious the house felt despite it being hardly a thousand square feet.

"It's nice." He said when they had finished seeing the house.

Martin chuckled. "Hopefully not too nice for your low standards!"

Logan simply shook his head and ignored the comment while Jack laughed.

"Jack, have you ever tried your hand at cooking?" Martin asked.

"No, sir."

"Come on, I'll show you a thing or two."

Logan leaned against the wall as he watched them stroll to the kitchen. For the umpteenth time, he was beside himself as his eyes took in his surroundings. This was too good to be true. He'd only known Martin for two days, yet he oddly trusted the man with his life and the trust seemed to be mutual. He didn't even know where to begin with the house. It was a much-needed lift out of the life they had been living, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd finally found his luck after years of trials and tragedy. However, Logan didn't want to know the answer. His luck was rotten, and he feared that all the good he'd stumbled upon would turn to dust.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, hoping with all his strength that his fear wouldn't be realized.

It wasn't until an hour later when the smell of a homecooked meal was heavy in the air that he joined Jack and Martin in the kitchen.

"Look who decided to join us, Jack!" Martin jested.

Logan ignored the comment. "What are you all cooking?"

"Just a stew, nothing too fancy."

"It smells wonderful,"

"Thank you, Logan. Jack did most of the work." He said.

His eyes flicked to Jack as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Did you now?"

"Sure did!" Jack beamed.

"Well look at you!" Logan said as he ruffled his hair.

"Jack, why don't you help set up the table?" Martin suggested. He waited for Jack to enter the dining room before speaking again. "You don't come across as being a gentle man, but you've got quite a soft spot there for the kiddo."

Logan wasn't sure where the comment had come from but decided to bite anyway. "A lot has happened to him for a boy his age."

"Forgive me for making such bold assumptions, but it seems like you know what that's like."

"I do," he said as he crossed his arms, "and?"

Martin shrugged, unphased by his sudden bristly demeanor. "And nothing, I think it's good for him to have someone who understands, is all. He admires you like most boys would admire a good father."

Logan looked him up and down with narrowed eyes before lowering his guard again, unsure of what to make of the observation. Martin, however, carried on as if the interaction never happened and handed Logan a bowl. He filled it with enough stew for Jack and gave it to the boy as he reentered the kitchen. Martin and Logan then helped themselves and sat down to enjoy the meal together.

Martin pulled out a pack of cards after the dishes had been put away and taught Logan and Jack how to play Forty-Fives. As he dealt the cards for the fourth round, he eyed Logan through the smoke from his cigarette. The man had his elbows on the table with one hand propping up his head as he stared at his cards through half-lidded eyes.

"I think it's about time you called it a night, boyo."

Logan frowned as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm fine,"

Martin let out a gust of laughter and nearly lost his cigarette. "Like hell you are!"

"He's right," Jack added as he collected Logan's cards, "you should really get some sleep."

He muttered under his breath but complied and rose from his seat. Bidding them goodnight, he trudged to their room. He discarded his shirt and collapsed onto the bed, too exhausted to pull the covers over himself.


	3. A Strange Encounter

Logan awoke abruptly in a cold sweat and found himself sitting upright with claws drawn as his eyes darted around the room lit by the mid-morning light. His chest heaved as his eyes finally settled on Jack who had stopped his reading and was watching him intently. Logan sheathed his claws, collected himself, and sighed. The two of them tried to look out for the other when they were having nightmares, and he was thankful that Jack's power allowed him to keep his distance whenever he had his own. Logan had instructed him to never get within arm's reach since his animal instincts were known for taking over when he slept. He ran a hand over his face as he evened his breathing.

"How bad was it this time?"

"You've had worse nightmares, which is why I didn't wake you," Jack replied.

Logan nodded, rose from the bed, and pulled on his white button-up before shouldering on his leather jacket. "And how did you sleep?"

"Better than you." He grinned. "Mr. Byrne said he'd be back later to take you somewhere to meet a man named George."

He had to take a double take. "Wait, George Moran?"

"He didn't say."

Logan scratched the back of his neck. Martin truly didn't waste time with getting him involved in the North Side Gang's affairs. Meeting Weiss was understandable, but Moran? Logan assumed that would have come later. He pushed his confusion to the side and pulled back the curtain. The sky was clear, allowing the sun to shine brightly on the changing leaves of a tree beside the house. From looks alone, it was a gorgeous November day. He looked over his shoulder at Jack who had resumed reading his book. His eyes read the red title and he tilted his head.

"Europe and Elsewhere? What's that about?"

"It's a collection of Mark Twain's essays and writings." He looked up from his book, and his eyes lit up as he looked him over. "Actually, I think you'd enjoy a few of them."

"Well, let me know when you're done with it and I'll give it a go." He replied. "How do you feel about the idea of doing something outside today?"

Jack furrowed his brow. "What?"

"You heard me!" He grinned.

He beamed and set aside his book as he slid off the bed. "Sure! Do you have something in mind?"

"It looks nice enough of a day to walk to the river. What do you say?"

"I say I'm more ready than you are!" Jack quipped as he headed towards the front door.

Logan chuckled to himself and slipped on his boots before meeting Jack outside. The air was brisk, but the brilliant sunshine perfectly balanced it. The boy seemed to have brightened up as well, carrying himself with an ease Logan hadn't seen in a while. He listened to him talk about anything and everything that was on his mind, and he couldn't help but think he had Martin to thank for the pleasant change in his mood. The bootlegging was worth it if it meant Jack would be happier. The boy deserved a break.

They reached the river after a while, and they meandered their way down to the bank. Logan took a seat on a rock as Jack stood beside him. He glanced up and studied his face, noticing for the first time how much he had grown these last few months. The boy was nearly as tall as him and was beginning to lose the boyish look in his face. It wouldn't be much longer until he would be able to be out on his own, and his heart ached at the thought of it.

He looked away and picked up a smooth stone that was by his feet. "You ever skip a stone before?"

"Logan, I lived on a farm! I didn't have the time to find a lake or river to skip stones!" Jack laughed.

"It's simple. Look," he handed him another stone he found, "hold it between your fingers like this and fling it with a flick of your wrist." He then demonstrated and watched the stone skip four times across the water.

Jack nodded to himself and gave it a try, but the stone landed with a plop, and he frowned.

Logan handed him another. "Try again, this time keep your wrist parallel with the river."

He did as he was told and managed to get the stone to skip once this time. Logan grinned as an idea came to mind, and he placed another smooth rock in his hand.

"Good, now this time I want to see if you can get the stone to stay in the air with your power."

"What?" Jack looked at him as if he had grown another head. "Out here? In public?"

He looked around him before flashing him a mischievous look. "You don't see anyone else around, do you?"

"Logan—"

"It'll be fine. You need to practice using it on things other than me anyway."

Jack rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and held the stone out in front of him.

Logan watched him, his keen eyes noticing the stiffness in his shoulders. "Clear your mind, you're thinking too hard about it."

"I'm trying!" He snapped.

"Focus on the rhythm of the water, then on your breathing." He instructed.

Jack closed his eyes, and Logan watched the stone intently as it began to shakily rise. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he silently cheered him on, proud of even the smallest movement of the rock. Then, without warning, the stone shattered.

"Dammit!" He hissed. "Why can't I do anything right with this power?"

"Easy, don't be so hard on yourself. You'll get the hang of it." Logan found another stone, stood, and held it out to him. Jack knocked it out of his hand with a scoff.

"I only hurt things."

He furrowed his brow and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That ain't true."

Jack sighed and wiped away a few rogue tears from his face with the back of his hand.

Logan stared at the rock that had landed in the dirt. He remembered being in Jack's shoes years ago. It had been a dark and cold place, full of uncertainty and despair. Logan was lucky enough to have had Rose and Smitty by his side at the time. Their encouragement and patience had brought stability to his life, a place of solid ground when he could hardly keep his feet underneath him. Seeing Jack like this brought back those memories and reminded him how much the boy needed that very same companionship. Logan drew a deep breath as he dared to pick up the stone again and offered it to him.

"Try it just one more time, for me."

Jack stared at his outstretched hand before finally taking it. He took a deep breath and held it out in front of him once more. This time, Logan stood behind him with his hands on his shoulders.

"Clear your mind, breath in," he paused as his eyes flicked to the rock, "now breath out and lift."

Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled so wide. He was beaming ear to ear as he tracked the stone as it steadily rose higher. A short, breathy laugh escaped him. Part of him couldn't believe it, and another was overwhelmingly proud of Jack. The boy opened an eye before both widened at the sight.

"I'm doing it!" The rock dropped back into his hand and he turned to look at Logan. "Thanks, for not letting me give up."

He ruffled Jack's hair. "You have it in you, kid. Don't sell yourself short."

He nodded and glanced over his shoulder at the river bank. "Do you think I can skip a stone with it?"

"I don't see why not," Logan said. With that, Jack was searching for more stones as Logan kept an eye out for any passerby. He was impressed but unsurprised by how quickly he was getting used to his power. Jack had always been a quick learner, and while he wasn't the best teacher, Logan was still able to guide him when he could. He watched as each stone toss became stronger and more controlled, skipping across the glittering surface of the river with ease.

"Did you have anyone to help you with your powers?" Jack asked.

The question caught him off guard and he shook his head. "No, not really. I had two people who supported me, but they weren't like us."

He paused, the stone he was about to toss dropping to the ground as he turned to face him. Jack's eyebrows were pulled together as his eyes searched his own. "What happened to them?"

Logan's gaze dropped to the ground before meeting Jack's again. He couldn't lie to him, and the boy was old enough by now to know at least part of his history. "My past caught up with me, and my…friend, Rose, died. I accidentally killed her, and as for Smitty, well, I don't know where he is, to be honest with you."

Jack nodded to himself as he mulled over the new information.

They stood there in silence before Logan finally motioned for Jack to follow him and they began their trek back to Martin's house. When they arrived, Martin was in the living room listening to a Louis Armstrong record on his Victrola phonograph. He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled.

"Did you two have a good time out?"

Logan nodded. "We walked to the river and back."

"Sounds like a lovely time! Leftovers are warming up on the stove. They should be ready to eat in a few minutes and then we can head over to Vito's."

* * *

Logan lit a cigar as Martin pulled out onto the street. He could feel the older gentleman's scrutinizing gaze on him and he looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Are you sure you want to be getting into this kind of business, Logan?"

He gave the cigar a puff and snorted. "Come on, not this again!"

"Hear an old man out for a minute." He said with a furrowed brow. "Don't you ever think about settling down? Finding a nice lass and making a good, clean and honest living?"

Logan couldn't help but scoff at the question. "I tried making an honest living. It wasn't exactly working out, remember? Why? Are _you_ having second thoughts about this gig, Marty?"

"Me? No, I'm an old Irish dog, boyo. Even if I did, there's not much out there for me outside of what we're doing."

He side-eyed him before finally shrugging. "Suit yourself."

"But _you_, Logan, the world is your oyster! You're young. You've got looks _and_ a brain! So why settle for this kind of dirty work?" Martin asked with a quirked eyebrow.

For a while, Logan remained silent. He wanted to tell his friend why. That he wasn't good at doing the right things and how he always seemed to fail in some way. He'd hurt so many people, had messed up in even actively trying to protect those he loved. It was a miracle he was doing as well as he was with Jack.

He finally looked over at Martin who had been patiently waiting for a response. "This sort of thing is what I'm best at, Marty. It isn't pretty or nice, but it beats failing at everything else."

"It sounds like you've sold yourself short. That boy looks up to you, you know?"

"I know." And part of him wished Jack didn't.

"Does he even know what we do for a living?" Martin asked.

"He's asked once or twice. I told him we do temp work."

"_Temp work?_" He scoffed. "For the love! Of all the things—you know you're going to have to tell him the truth eventually, right?"

Logan shook his head. "The kid's got enough things to worry about. He doesn't need to have this weighing on his mind, too."

Martin sighed but said nothing more as he parked the car in a small lot behind a building off North Orleans Street. Logan knew he didn't agree with him, but he was thankful that he said nothing more. They exited the car, and Logan followed him as they walked up the street. Martin stopped at a door and knocked. The door opened, and they were greeted by a man who appeared to be in his thirties. He smiled brightly at them and waved them in.

"Come on in, Marty! Bugs has been waiting for you." He said as he shut the door behind them.

"Thanks, Nello! Is he downstairs?"

"As always," the man named Nello gave Logan a once-over with his deep brown eyes, "is this your new partner that I've been hearing about?"

"Yes, this is Logan."

"It's a pleasure!" He said as he held out a calloused hand.

"Pleasure's mine," Logan replied as he shook it.

"Now if you don't mind, we're going to help ourselves to a few drinks while we're here," Martin said.

"Certainly! Tell my brother to give the two of you a beer on the house, would ya?"

"You don't have to tell me twice!"

Logan followed him as they headed further into the restaurant. To him, it looked like any other Italian restaurant with booths and tables. He knew, however, that the establishment was more than that. Martin opened a door disguised as a bookshelf and led him down a flight of cement stairs where he pulled back a curtain to reveal the underground speakeasy. The bar itself was crowded with patrons while others sat at tables. In the back corner, Logan spotted a poker game and a man who could only be the infamous George "Bugs" Moran. Martin pulled him along before his gaze could linger much longer and the two of them somehow found a seat at the counter.

"Hey, Jack! Your brother said there was a beer on the house for us." Martin said to the bartender.

"Why am I not surprised?" He quipped as he handed each of them a beer.

"Oh feck off," Martin scoffed before taking a sip from his glass.

Logan took a swig from his glass as well and was surprised by the quality of the drink. It had been too long since he'd had a good drink, and tasting it now explained why Martin had been so upset with the other bartender. He savored the rich flavor and the familiar burn of alcohol. Drinking was a luxury he missed, and he was determined to relish his first real drink in several years.

"Not too bad, eh?" Martin said.

"Not bad at all,"

"We North Siders hardly ever water anything down, and we steer clear of any rotgut. It's bad for business in more ways than one if you know what I mean."

Logan couldn't agree more. He'd tried the stuff once by mistake. It couldn't kill him, but at the time it left him desperately wishing he could purge the bathtub gin faster.

Martin excused himself and made his way over to Moran, and Logan watched him for a moment before his gaze flicked back to the beer in front of him. As he continued to nurse his drink, his thoughts began to wander. If someone had told him a few days ago he would be bootlegging for the North Siders, he would've said they were crazy. He had dragged Jack to Chicago to blend in and to make an honest living. Yet here he was, drinking illegally and jumping headfirst into Chicago's cesspool of crime. His brow furrowed as he tried to convince himself it was for the best. Bootlegging was a lucrative business and, as an added bonus, working for the North Siders meant access to legitimate alcohol.

A hand took hold of his shoulder unexpectedly, jolting Logan from his thoughts. He instinctively tensed, his fists balling up tightly. Logan had to force himself to relax. It was a reaction that was rooted in months of abuse he'd endured nearly two decades ago. In the back of his mind those memories, combined with those of the Great War, made a volatile cocktail, and he was lucky he hadn't hurt anyone yet.

Well, at least not unintentionally.

He took a deep breath through his nose and focused his thoughts. This wasn't the European theater nor Hugo's circus ring, and Essex was deader than a doornail.

Logan looked over his shoulder to see Martin with Moran beside him. If Martin had noticed the reaction, he didn't mention it. "George, this is Logan."

They shook hands and Moran flashed a lopsided smile. "Mr. Byrne has told me a lot about you."

"All good things, I hope," Logan said.

"Of course, apparently you're good in a fight."

"I've had some experience." He smirked.

"Great, Martin needs someone like you hanging around him. No offense, Marty." Moran jested.

"None taken, it's the truth!" Martin replied.

"The two of you a swell pair, which is why I'm giving you guys tonight's job."

"Where are we taking the liquor this time?"

"You'll be dropping it off at that one lawyer's house off North Lakeview Ave," Moran said. "You can't miss it. He's having a party of sorts there, and it'll no doubt be lit up like a beacon in the night. The truck is parked in the back."

"Sounds simple enough," Martin mused before downing the rest of his drink. "Come on, boyo, we've got a party to go to."

Logan grudgingly took one last swig of his beer to finish it off and followed Martin up the steps. He'd wanted another, but there were more pressing matters he needed to attend.

When Logan saw the truck, he couldn't help but pause and stare at it. As Martin stepped up into the driver's side, he laughed in disbelief at the sight. "We're using a dairy truck? Do cops really buy that?"

"You'd be surprised! It's the simplest things that are the best diversion." He said.

"Clearly," he replied as he took his place in the passenger's seat.

They drove up North Sedgewick Street for a while before turning left and eventually taking a right. As Logan stared at the house, he realized Moran hadn't been exaggerating. The windows were brightly lit, and cars were parked up and down the avenue. He scoffed at the ostentatious display, noting that there had been no attempt to be discreet. The house was a giant fishbowl, and the figures of flappers and men in suits dancing could be seen from the street.

He scowled. This was clearly a party for the wealthy, and the extravagance of it all made his stomach turn. He felt Martin's gaze on him, and he exited the vehicle before the Irishman could ask any questions. Martin followed him out with an audible sigh, and a few other men met them outside to help unload the booze they'd brought. Logan trailed Martin as he went inside, and they set the crates down by the makeshift bar in the parlor.

Logan straightened his jacket as the strangers removed the booze from their crates. He warily observed the large room before his stare wandered to the party guests. Between the opulent wealth and mixed bag of false personae, there weren't enough drinks in the world to relax him. He didn't trust any of these people, and despite his upbringing, he felt out of place. Logan frowned. Most of these people were living in denial of what reality was. They were striving to embody an elitist ideal that was unattainable. It sickened him. Hell, just fifteen minutes south were people barely making ends meet.

He shook his head and took a seat at the bar with his back to the party, preferring the view of the bartender and booze lining the wall. He ordered a shot of whiskey and downed the drink as his thoughts ventured elsewhere. For once he was thankful for the loud jazz music. The staccato notes plucked from a string bass accompanied by a trumpet's more drawn-out notes helped suffocate the trivial conversations in the background.

After a while, he ordered another whiskey and as the bartender brought him his drink, Logan sensed someone take a seat beside him. He could tell it was Martin by the scent of his cologne and the beer he'd been drinking. Once he got settled on the stool beside him, he clapped Logan on the shoulder.

"Why the sour face, my friend?" He beamed. "This is a party, not a funeral!"

"I'd be having more fun at a funeral."

"You don't mean that!"

"I do, and you're drunk." He scoffed.

"At least I'm having a good time!"

Logan refused to argue the point any further. He downed the whiskey and slid the empty glass down to the bartender. "Don't let me stop you from enjoying yourself, then."

Martin seemed to sober up briefly. Genuine concern shrouded his aged features, his wrinkles becoming more pronounced. "I'm worried about you, boyo. Your mood's turned south ever since we got here."

Logan forced a smile in an attempt to dispel his friend's worry. "Don't worry about me. I'm just tired, Marty."

Martin's stare hardened as he scrutinized him, but Logan's guard was high and impenetrable. The man shook his head, unable to find what he was looking for, and wordlessly squeezed his shoulder before rejoining the party.

Logan pulled a cigar from his pocket and searched his jacket for his lighter. His eyebrows pulled together as he patted his pockets for it before swearing under his breath. It was just his luck that he had left it on the nightstand the night before. With a huff, he went to put his cigar away but paused when he sensed someone sit beside him. One whiff told him that it wasn't Martin this time. The scent that hit his nose was mostly unrecognizable. He muttered under his breath, convinced that he couldn't get a break. Logan thought his posture had been a clear enough sign that he wanted to be left alone.

"Listen, bub, whatever it is I ain't in the mood."

"Not even for a light?"

Logan paused and looked over at the stranger. He was tall with broad shoulders, shoulders broader than his own. The man exuded confidence. Practically reeked of it. But there was something else Logan couldn't pinpoint. Something that flickered behind the man's amber eyes that sent a chill down his spine.

"Sure," he finally said, holding out the cigar. Almost everything about this stranger was a red flag, but he couldn't help but be intrigued by him.

The man gave a lopsided grin, revealing a canine that was unnervingly sharp, and lit the end with his lighter. "Name's Victor."

"Logan," he gave the cigar a few puffs, "you work for any of these fools?"

He shrugged as he leaned forward and rested his muscular arms on the counter. "Depends on the job, why?"

"This doesn't seem like your kind of crowd."

His laugh was deep and throaty. "Well, our kind of crowd is hard to come by, isn't it?"

Logan eyed him, unsure of what to make of the cryptic comment. Victor only smiled again and ordered a few more drinks for both of them. They talked, drank, and talked some more. All the while, Logan couldn't help but notice how sober the man was after his sixth drink. He was huge, but there was no doubt any man would be tipsy, at the very least, after the amount of strong liquor they'd drank in the last hour. Logan downed what whiskey was left in his glass in a sad attempt to ease his mind. The man seemed pleasant enough; he only needed to relax a little. Logan did, however, take another tentative sniff of his scent and furrowed his brow. Underneath the sheer musk and cologne, there was something familiar. A variation of a scent he'd encountered before, but where?

He thought he heard Victor do the same but convinced himself it was something he'd heard in the background for the sake of his own sanity.

"You seem tense, Logan."

It was unsettling how well the man could read him. "It's been a rough few months."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He shrugged. "Such is life."

"Have you ever considered that life's only that way because you let it keep kicking you in the ribs? It sounds to me like it's time for you to start fighting back." He grinned as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips. "I could show you how."

Logan frowned, his nose wrinkling at the idea. He didn't mind the man's company, but he felt insulted by Victor's insinuation. He wanted to tell him that it wasn't that simple. That he had Jack he had to think about. If he had chosen to live life Victor's way, who knows what would've happened to the boy. He took a swig from the bottle he'd opened, forcing down those thoughts instead of voicing them.

"It's not like that." He retorted finally.

"Come on, Logan. You're only fooling yourself."

"Then I guess I'll just keep on being a fool."

Victor scowled, the flicker Logan saw earlier in his eyes taking over completely. "Suit yourself. If you find yourself in a cage, just remember you're the one who made it your home."

Logan raised an eyebrow as he tried to read him, but the easy-going demeanor Victor wore earlier returned just as quickly as it had left.

Victor tipped his flat cap with a toothy smile and left without another word.

His mind was left reeling from the strange encounter, and he distracted himself by finishing the rest of his beer as Martin returned to his side.

"What an odd fellow, do you know him?" He asked.

"No, I just met the guy."

"That's strange, it looked like you two were friends. I'm surprised you two aren't fluthered after all those drinks!" He laughed.

"Wish I could say the same for you." He quipped.

"Oh feck off," he gave Logan a playful shove for emphasis, "why don't we get out of here? I think we've spent enough time at this swanky place."

Logan couldn't agree more. While he couldn't spot Victor in the crowd, he had an unsettling feeling that he was watching him. They made their way back to the truck and Logan stopped Martin before he could get behind the wheel.

"With all due respect, I don't think you should be driving." He said.

Martin made a face, his bushy eyebrows almost touching each other as his strong nose wrinkled. "For the love, you had more drinks than me!"

"And I'm not the one swaying on my feet, now am I?" He countered.

He muttered under his breath but gave in regardless. "I still can't believe you aren't passed out on the floor after all those drinks!"

He shrugged. "I'm Canadian."

"And I'm feckin Irish! What's your point?"

Logan laughed. "Just get in the damn truck!"


	4. Best Served Cold

Late September 1926

The atmosphere of the speakeasy was more boisterous than usual. Both visitors and regulars were laughing, cheering, and counting in unison as a man slammed down his fifteenth shot of whiskey. Sweat beaded at his brow, and as he reached over for his sixteenth, he fell off his stool. The patrons nearby responded with uproarious laughter as the stranger's friend helped him up. Logan smirked and signaled to Nello to start pouring him shots.

Each shot went down easily, and by the time Nello had to open a new bottle he was only feeling a pleasant buzz. He was no doubt cheating, but the stranger had insulted his height, and Logan had decided to have some fun with a 'friendly' competition. Logan knew it was petty, but he didn't care.

He decided to stop once he reached twenty-five and pretended to sway some. While he admitted he was being cocky, he knew it was unwise to draw too much attention to himself. If he drank any more and was still able to stand on his own two feet, people would start asking one too many questions.

The patrons around him cheered and Logan held out his hand to the man who was now sitting in his seat once again with the help of his friend. "I believe you owe me twenty bucks."

"I owe you nuthin'!" he slurred before pointing at Nello. "He watered down your whiskey!"

Nello laughed at the ludicrous accusation. "I swear on my brother's life that the two of you drank the same damn liquor!"

"See? Cough it up," Logan said as he wiggled his fingers for emphasis. The man swore loudly as he dug into his pocket and tossed him a twenty-dollar bill. He smugly thanked him as he tucked it into his jacket. As he helped Nello collect the shot glasses, he heard Martin call his name and looked over. The joy that was usually present in his tone was absent, and Logan studied him with a curious look as his friend made his way over to his side.

"What the hell is the meaning of all this, Logan?" He demanded, his gray eyes unusually stormy.

"He called me a short Canuck," Logan explained with a grin, trying to lighten Martin's mood.

"You _are_ a short Canuck!"

"Come on, I'm just having a little fun like you told me to." He looked him over again. "What's gotten you so hot-headed?"

Martin sighed and removed his cap to run a hand through what hair he had. "Nothin', don't mind me."

Logan furrowed his brow, his senses telling him the man felt otherwise. "You're lying, Marty."

He swore under his breath before shaking his head. "Weiss said he needs to talk to you, alone. He didn't say why."

Although judging from Martin's mood, the man had a good idea regarding what it was, and it was clear that he didn't approve of whatever Hymie had in mind. Logan didn't bring it up though, and he rose from his seat to head upstairs. He was stopped, however, when he felt Martin seize his arm.

"You know you can deny any job he offers, right?"

Logan tilted his head, and he found that it felt like he was trying to implore him to refuse whatever Hymie had to offer. "I know,"

Martin nodded, and Logan made his way up to the second floor of the restaurant. The men standing guard let him through and he found Hymie at a desk smoking a cigarette. His hawk-like gaze flicked up to him and he exhaled a cloud of gray smoke.

"Logan," he greeted.

"Mr. Weiss,"

"Is it true what you told me about being a sergeant in the Great War?"

"Yes,"

"Are you still good with a gun?"

Logan hesitated. His marksmanship was incredible, but he was leery of where Hymie was going with this. "I am."

Weiss considered this for a moment as he continued to smoke the cigarette in his hand. "I'm sick and tired of seeing that snake, Capone, slipping through our hands. That bastard's going to pay for what he's done, and I need my best men with me to make sure of it."

"What is it that you have in mind?" He now understood why Martin was on edge. Weiss' proposal was confirmation that his desire for vengeance hadn't diminished since the day Logan had met him. The bloodlust was still bright in his eyes, and he was hellbent on revenge, even at the cost of lives. Logan didn't always agree with seeking revenge, but he knew Hymie's plan, whatever it was, would cause all hell to break loose. If Logan could take the place of someone who couldn't heal, of someone who could die, he reasoned taking part in the inevitable chaos was worth it.

"I've been getting together a convoy to take through Cicero where that wop is holed up. We've got the firepower. All I need now is the men to handle it."

"When?"

"Two days from now, are you in?"

"Of course,"

"Good, I'll see you here early Tuesday morning."

Logan nodded and went down the stairs to the main level of the restaurant. In a booth sat Martin who had been waiting for him. The concern was still written all over his face, a deep line carved between his eyebrows. Logan scratched the back of his neck and his friend looked up at him before exiting the booth.

"Well? What did he want?" He asked as he walked over.

Logan hesitated as he chose his words carefully. "He's going to try to take out Capone, and he asked me to help."

"_What?_" He exclaimed. "Logan, getting in the middle of their blood feud is probably the _worst_ idea you've had in your whole damn life!"

"Easy, Martin! I'm not going to be the only one there." He said, trying to calm down the Irishman.

"I don't care if the whole feckin' Chicago police force is there backing Weiss! If you go, you'll be putting yourself in harm's way." Martin leaned closer and lowered his volume. "What will happen to Jack if you end up shot and bleeding out on the street like—"

Logan furrowed his brow as Martin cut himself short. "Like?"

He sighed, his eyes lowering to the floor before meeting his again. "Forget it, I know how little you heed my advice, but _please_ be careful."

It was obvious to Logan that there was something he wasn't telling him, something that weighed him down and caused him to worry. Perhaps there was something that had always fueled his concern for Logan's safety other than the fact he had Jack depending on him. He had a good guess as to what it was, but it had no grounds. Knowing this, he didn't press further, respecting Martin's silent wish to avoid the topic.

"I will," he finally said.

Martin nodded, and Logan followed him out of the restaurant to the car. Their ride back to the house was filled with a heavy silence. Logan wanted to say something, anything, to break it. But the more he searched for the words, the further out of reach they became. He heaved a sigh and watched Martin as he drove.

"I don't mean to disregard your concerns. After the war, I've found that running head-first into danger has become…instinctive." Logan finally said.

Martin observed him briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "Do you have that shell-shock that people have been talking about?"

"I guess." He mused.

"I thought so. I've noticed it when you're caught off guard. You're jumpy when your mind is elsewhere."

"I suppose that's one way to put it."

"Jack has told me about your nightmares, too."

Logan looked away. Martin was bound to find out about them one way or another, so he wasn't surprised. "I wish I knew how to stop them."

"Me too, boyo." He replied as he parked the car. Logan had intended to ask him what he meant, but Martin had already exited the car and was making his way over to the door. He sighed and opened the car door to join him.

They stepped inside and were greeted by the pleasant smell of broiled chicken and mashed potatoes. The two of them exchanged a quizzical look before venturing further into the house. Inside the kitchen, they found Jack standing beside the stove reading a book. He looked up and flashed a bright smile as he set the navy-blue novel aside.

"You guys are just in time! Dinner is almost done." He said.

"You did this all on your own?" Logan asked.

"Sure, Martin is a great teacher."

The comment seemed to restore the Irishman's joy and the corners of his mouth lifted high, his eyes sparkling once again. "It smells delightful! I'm so proud of you!"

"Thanks," his hazel eyes flicked over to Logan and his smile dropped a hair. "You look exhausted."

"That's what happens when you take twenty-five shots of whiskey," Martin commented as he folded his arms across his chest.

Jack's brow furrowed. "You what?"

"I'm _fine_, Jack. Everything's fine." Logan insisted.

"Why the hell did you have to drink_ twenty-five?_" His tone had changed, becoming terser and showing glimpses of thought patterns only Logan was aware of. Jack knew what Logan's healing factor was capable of, and he was no doubt registering what could've happened if someone had noticed how sober Logan had been.

"A man insulted his height, so he decided to challenge him to a drinking contest," Martin explained.

"_Logan!_"

He groaned. Martin wasn't helping, and he was sure the Irishman knew it. "Listen, nothing happened! I won my twenty bucks and that was that."

Jack ran a hand over his face before shaking his head. "I can't believe you."

"Well, believe it or not, that's what happened."

He walked over to Logan who now had to look up to maintain eye contact. It dawned on him that the boy had grown considerably in the last two years. His face was longer and more angular, gradually losing the softness of childhood.

"You don't need to prove yourself to anyone, Logan. When are you going to see that?"

Logan opened his mouth to argue otherwise but found himself at a loss for words.

Jack sighed and resumed his place by the pot on the stove as Logan scratched the back of his neck, casting a sideways glance at Martin who shifted his weight. He'd fallen unusually silent, his eyes avoiding Logan's by staring at the book Jack had left on the counter.

"What are you reading there, boyo?" Martin asked. Logan was thankful for the break in silence regardless of how simple the question was.

"It's called 'The Great Gatsby'. It's a new one by Fitzgerald, about a year old I think? He's the one who wrote 'This Side of Paradise'."

"I'm not much of a reading man, so I can't say I've heard of either of them."

"It's a…" he waved his hand as he tried to find the words, "social commentary."

"I see," he mused. "you tend to read quite a few of those."

"Disillusionment tends to bring the best out of writers. It evokes a sense of realism and relatability that can be difficult to find in other stories."

Martin quirked an eyebrow at Logan who responded with a half shrug.

"Come on, Logan, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't play dumb." Jack huffed as he made three plates full of steaming food.

"I may have read bits and pieces of those stories, but I'm more familiar with the 'disillusionment' than I am with the books." He said.

"Same difference. Let's just eat before the food gets cold."

* * *

Logan stared at the Thompson submachine gun in his hands. If he wasn't about to use it aiding Hymie's plight for revenge, he would've been able to fully appreciate its beauty compared to the rudimentary Huot rifle he'd used in combat. The wood grain of the stock was a deep mahogany and shined like new, and it was saturated with the scent of fresh gun oil. The man next to him in the backseat of the Model T elbowed him in the ribs. Logan frowned and looked over at the grinning young man who had earlier introduced himself as Russell.

"Hey, if you like the gun so much why don't you marry it?"

Logan rolled his eyes before flashing the blond a smirk. "I just might. She'd at least have better jokes than you."

A man named Sam Peller slapped the steering wheel as laughter escaped him. "Damn, Russ! Should I call the police station to report a murder?"

"Oh, shut the hell up!" He muttered, although a smile still pulled at the corner of his mouth. Logan chuckled to himself, glad that he was with some men whose sense of humor persevered in spite of the grim task ahead. He stared out the window at the brick buildings as they drove down West Twenty-Second Street before glancing behind him at the other cars following. Surely this would be it for Capone. They had the firepower and they had the numbers. Now all they needed to do was to make history.

His eyes flicked up to the Hawthorne Restaurant's sign, and he drew a deep breath in through his nose as he lowered the window. This was it, and there was no turning back. Logan cleared his mind as he slid the clip into place. He gave his combat training full control, letting it take the reins of his thought patterns.

The car slowed to a stop.

Hymie sounded the signal; a single shot fired into the air.

Logan lifted the gun and fired the first twenty rounds into the air as he was instructed to flush out Capone. All hell broke loose as others began to use their pistols to carry out their assault. As Russell opened the car door and stood on the fender to get a better shot, Logan lowered the barrel and unleashed the rest of the hundred round clip into the restaurant.

Their onslaught was over in minutes, and the eight-car caravan drove off. Logan pulled the gun out from the window and set it on the floor before rolling the window back up. It was ten minutes later when Russell broke the silence.

"You think we got him?"

"You saw what we did to that place. There's no way he could've survived that." Sam answered as he parked the car in front of the Rienzi Hotel.

"I don't know, he's survived other attempts."

Logan watched Hymie exit the Model T ahead of them. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

The three of them exited the car and followed Hymie and Vincent Drucci into the hotel. Logan handed the Thompson to Drucci before addressing Weiss. "Do you want us to wait around for a while until you know for sure if Capone's alive or not?"

Hymie thought it over as he called the elevator before his steely gaze met Logan's. "Couldn't hurt,"

Logan nodded, and the four of them stepped into the elevator.

When the doors opened, they exited the elevator before Drucci and Weiss stepped inside their office, followed by Russell and Sam. Logan, however, decided it would be better if he lingered outside to keep guard, especially after the scene they made earlier. He spotted an armchair down the hall and dragged it over to the door where he took a seat, rummaged through his jacket for a cigar, and lit the end as he waited. His hand leisurely lifted the cigar from his mouth as he blew out a cloud of smoke in the form of a sigh and listened in on the conversation behind the door.

It was somewhere around two hours later when he had still heard nothing pertinent. He checked the hallway to make sure it was clear before using his hand to finally stub his cigar. A wince distorted his features as he took in a sharp breath through his nose. Once the end was completely out, he tossed the cigar into a nearby trashcan. The sound of someone running down the hall then reached his ears and his hand quickly pulled back to hover over the revolver on his hip as he stood. He waited for the individual to appear, his muscles tense and ready. When he recognized the man, who swiftly rounded the corner, he relaxed and exhaled.

"What are you doing here, Martin?" He asked. The Irishman's eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, and a look of panic was in his eyes. Martin whirled his head around, scanning their surroundings. Logan wasn't sure why, but he knew for certain something was troubling his friend.

"It's Jack, he never came home." He explained in a hushed tone.

Logan felt his stomach drop. "What?"

"I've tried looking around, but I can't find him!"

He glanced at the door to his right before looking at him again. "I'll look for him. Can you—"

"Of course, I'll take your place and stand guard. You just focus on finding the boy."

Logan nodded and strode down the hall before descending the stairs. He exited the hotel, and the cold air hit him like a smack to the face. As his body adjusted to the temperature, he wasted no time in heading towards the high school nearby. It was the best place to start considering that was, hopefully, where Jack had been last. His pace was as brisk as the air as he made his way up Ashland Avenue. It only took fifteen minutes for what was usually a thirty-minute walk when he the four-story building of Lake View High School came into view.

However, he didn't need to walk any further to catch Jack's faint scent in the air. Logan continued to follow it down the avenue before pausing at the corner of West Lawrence Ave. He could tell he was close as he pulled the cold air in through his nose.

Logan continued walking until he found himself in front of one of Balaban and Katz's high-end movie theaters. His eyes flicked up to the marquee and sizeable vertical sign shining brightly in the fading light of dusk. It was the Uptown theater. He'd taken Jack to it before, and he found it strange that the trail had led him to the place. They usually went together, however Logan's free time had been stretched thin as of late. He couldn't blame Jack for going without him.

What he should've done in the warm light of the marquee was go back to the Rienzo and leave Jack alone. The boy had proven time and again that he could take care of himself and stay out of trouble. Yet, Logan's gnawing curiosity got the better of him, and so he bought himself a ticket at the box office and stepped inside.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, the only source of light being the projected picture between the drawn velvet curtains. Logan searched the audience until the sound of Jack's laughter helped him zero in on the boy, and he furrowed his brow.

He wasn't alone. Beside him sat a girl about his age. She joined him in his laughter, her bright gaze lingering on Jack more than the film. The sight of the pair sucked the wind out of him. Jack was old enough to date, and the concept didn't bother Logan. Except, he hadn't expected Jack to do it right under his nose. Indignation climbed up his throat, his muscles tensing as his lips pressed into a thin line. Then Jack's genuine smile, a smile he hadn't seen for far too long, snuffed the feeling like a match dropped into a glass of water.

Here in this theater, he was a normal teenager. At this very moment, there were no powers. There were no close calls with death, and sleepless nights induced by nightmares were forgotten.

Logan stared at the ticket in his hand in shame before taking a seat in the back. He had no right to be a rain cloud hanging over Jack's harmless fun.

The movie ended sooner than Logan expected, and he squinted and blinked a few times as the house lights brightened. As Jack and his date continued to chat, Logan promptly rose from his seat and joined the departing crowd. He stepped outside and took his place amid the crowd talking noisily and loitering in front of the hat store nearby. Although, he couldn't help but wonder in the back of his mind if he blended in or stood out more among them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Jack and the girl exit the theater and begin walking down the street. He adjusted his fedora to hide his face more and followed the couple from a distance. The sun had completely set by now, and Logan wanted to make sure they were safe.

It was a short walk that led them to a newer development in Ravenswood with two-flat brick apartments that lined the street. Logan was thankful for the lack of street lights as he followed, his gaze constantly shifting between the young couple and their surroundings. They were holding hands, a tentative move made by Jack when they had left the theater. The two of them stopped in front of a lighter apartment building and spoke to one another in hushed tones. Logan stood behind a tree nearly too thin to hide his stocky frame as he watched Jack eventually lean down, placing a light, respectful peck on her cheek before saying goodnight. She flashed him a smile before finally walking up the porch steps and entering the building.

Jack stayed where he was with his hands in his pockets, and in the light of the full moon, Logan could make out a smile on his face. He then turned, his gaze venturing in his general direction. "I know you're there, Logan."

He swore under his breath and stepped out from the shadows before walking over. "How the hell did you know?"

"You taught me well," he shrugged before flashing a cheeky smirk, "and you gave yourself away. I wasn't completely sure if you were even there or not."

"Well played," he said as a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"I've learned from the best."

Logan couldn't help but laugh at that as they began their walk back to Martin's house. "The best at a lot of things you shouldn't be doing, like sneaking around Chicago with a date."

"It's not like that! I knew you were busy doing who the hell knows what, and I didn't have time to go all the way back home to tell Martin. She had to be back before nine, anyway."

"I know, I'm giving you a hard time." He replied as he elbowed him in the ribs. "Soon enough you'll be able to start your own life and get out of this mess I've dragged you into."

"Who says I want to leave? What if I want to go where you go?"

Logan sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. "Listen, kid, I'm not a good role model. Your father was better at that. I'm just sorry I couldn't save him or your mother."

"No," Jack replied, the firmness of his tone demanding Logan's full attention. His eyebrows were drawn together in a deep frown. "That man only cared about his status in society. He was kind to us, but the ranch always came first. We were just nice little additions to his adulterous, work-obsessed life. Hell, you've been more of a father these last five years than he was for fourteen."

Logan was silent as he let his words sink in, mulling them over and realizing for the first time how much he meant to Jack. He finally chuckled, a little nervously, as he scratched the back of his neck. "Reading all those damn books has turned you into a cynic."

Jack shook his head. "Being a human with powers has turned me into a cynic. We're forced to hide out of fear of becoming a circus act or worse. Thank God I've had you by my side to mentor and protect me." He paused, gathering his thoughts as he studied the clear night sky. "You went to war to fight for noble ideals, for the freedom of thought and expression, but look around you. We're alive thanks to men like you who fought and died, but are we really free? We're hiding like rats in a sewer, and that's what's given me my taste for cynicism."

With neither them unsure of what to say after that, they continued to walk in silence until they boarded a streetcar.

"So, what's her name?" Logan finally asked.

"Ruth, she's in a few of my classes."

He nodded, mostly to himself. "Was that your first date with her?"

Jack shifted his weight in his seat. "Not really. I may have gone out with some friends over the summer with her. We've gone out on a few dates, but you were always out somewhere so I couldn't tell you."

"What?" His brow furrowed. "It never occurred to you to tell me when I got back?"

"I wasn't sure how you'd react!" Jack explained.

"Well, I was fine until I found out you've been hiding it from me."

He nodded as his eyes dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"The truth is all I'm looking for, Jack. This is your life, and it's up to you what you make of it, but I want to be a part of it when I can."

"Yes, sir."

Logan looked over at him, noticing the downcast look that had stolen his smile. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a side-hug. Jack allowed him to do so, resting his head against his shoulder and closing his eyes.

"You should find someone, Logan, settle down with someone who makes you happy."

Jack's comment took Logan off guard and it was a while before the words finally came to him. "Trust me, it's best that I don't."

"How do you know? You can't let your past cause you to live in fear." Jack replied.

He was silent for the rest of the ride, and he was glad Jack didn't push the subject any further. While Jack had a point, Logan had a nagging feeling that he endangered those around him, whether it was via himself or the chaos he seemed to attract. In addition, the thought of allowing himself to be vulnerable to someone, other than the boy made his blood turn cold. The mere idea of trusting another person like that was terrifying. In the past, if it wasn't death that separated him from someone, it was an act of betrayal.

As their stop came into view, Logan wondered if he would have to wake the boy. Jack, however, lifted his head as the streetcar slowed and Logan pulled his arm back to his side. They exited the tram and shortly after stepped through the front door of Martin's house. Martin, who had been sitting in his favorite armchair, jumped to his feet and rushed over to hug Jack.

"Thank God you're okay!" He sighed.

Jack returned the hug with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"Where the hell were you?" Martin asked as he pulled away.

"He went to the Uptown Theater with his date," Logan said.

Martin quirked an eyebrow as he eyed the boy. "A date? Why didn't you tell us?"

"You two were busy _and_ you never asked." Jack jested.

"Go wash up, smartass. You've still got school tomorrow." Logan replied.

Jack chuckled at the oddly endearing term and left the room to do as he had been told. Once he was gone, Logan looked over at Martin.

"Well? Any news on Capone?"

"The bastard is still alive. He wants to have a conference to try for peace."

Logan's nose wrinkled in disgust, and he folded his arms across his chest. "Please tell me Weiss knows he's lying through his teeth."

"That's the thing." He said as he shook his head. "Weiss and Drucci have agreed to it."

"You're fucking kidding me!"

"I wish I was."

Logan couldn't believe his ears. "When and where?"

"October fourth at the Hotel Sherman. Capone won't be there, but he's sending Tony Lombardo to do the talking for him."

He muttered under his breath. The arrangement was sketchy but having the two gangsters in the same room would no doubt spark a violent confrontation. Tensions were higher than ever, and the two would be glad to go at each other's' throats if given the opportunity. "So, two weeks from now?"

"That's the plan."


End file.
